Pancakes
by mr.steamer96
Summary: Chucky eats pancakes, did you know that? In this case, at a ludicrously early hour with his baby daughter, Lottie. Oneshot.


**AN: Written for CharlotteRay. If walls could talk, hers sings songs about her.**

What do serial killers dream of? What sort of unspeakable and morbid imagery dwells in the horrorscape that is their subconscious? If you'd ask Charles Lee Ray, on this particular night, he'd wouldn't be able to tell...most likely he'll probably just cave your face in with a lead pipe for breaking into his home in the dead of night.

Sleep had only come to Chucky in intervals of an hour and a half. Given his age and sleep patterns, Chucky really never entered REM sleep that night. The only thing he could recall from his "sleep" was simply closing his eyes beforehand. And whenever he opened his scarred eyes, the clock would've only changed by an hour. The alarm was never the thing to wake him, it was his infant daughter, Lottie.

It was around five ish in the morning when Lottie had started up again. The tiny doll howled from her nursery down the hall. Sometimes there she would thrash around in her crib, but that was she really, really needed attention. The crying and wailing are enough to deal with on their own.

Chucky groaned to himself as he pulled a pillow over his head, like a child ignoring their mother when it's time to get up for school...just dreading responsibilities. "Ah...fuck."

He tossed the pillow to the side of his bed as he sat up, rubbing his eyes while making not attempt to straighten out his bed hair.

Tiffany laid next to him, she wouldn't be getting up anytime soon but she did awake to see her husband get out of bed. She tried to her head off her pillow, managing to get it off a few inches. From there, she just let out a pitiful moan as she lowered her head back down.

Chucky and his kin weren't affected by most illnesses, thank the layers of plastic hide safeguarding their vitals. But, they weren't totally immune to the sicknesses that that festered in the supernatural world. Recently, Tiffany had caught something that Chucky called a "voodoo virus". It wasn't really a virus by definition, Chucky just called it that because it sounded cool. None of the voodoo books mention this affliction by name. It wasn't Tiffany's body that was affected, it was her very soul. It can be hypothesized that it's the strain of having your soul tethered to an inanimate object (something in which it is unnatural to house a living soul) for so long. Chucky had come down with it himself a couple times, but by now he had learned to power through it. For Tiffany, it felt as if gravity increased. Something not above but within her was keeping her down. Her limbs feeling like they weighed a ton each and numb with sensitive aches. That made it hard if Chucky and the kids made the attempt to move her. Tiffany has been bedridden for a week now. Ever since that fall down the stairs. She could remember; everything was fine until her vision began to blur. Limbs began to ache and her core just started burning. Next thing she knew, she was on the floor at the bottom of the stairs with Chucky and the twins bandaging up a shallow gash on her head. They also had to tend to the discolored bruises she sustained on her arms and legs. By now, most if not all were healed.

"Ch-Chucky?" Tiffany attempted to get up a second time, only to yield same results as the first. Chucky was out of bed by now stretching himself out as he made his way around the bed.

"Tiff. Tiff, no," he cupped her cheek and took her hand in his. Her nails, once broken by her fall, now fixed and flawless courtesy of Glenda, "Just stay put. You're too sick to do shit." Voices had to be raised slightly due to Lottie's crying the background.

"I sh-should," said Tiffany, "You've been up and about too many times...you need sleep too, sweetface." Her eyes fluttered dreamily as Chucky gently rubbed his hand up and down her cheek.

"It's ok, Tiff. You know I'm a goddamn creature of the night. Like I always say, I thrive when I'm sleep deprived." It sure didn't show and Tiffany knew this.

"The bags on your eyes say otherwise," she laughed.

"Couple of poets, you and I." Chucky kissed her, his lips feeling numb against Tiffany's cold ones. An apparent side effect of this "voodoo virus", just feeling cold all over. Not to worry, Tiffany had at least three layers of blankets to combat this.

Meanwhile, Lottie's crying had grown louder. The baby was now taking long, drawn out wails before every sob.

"Oh great," Chucky sighed, "Lottie's pissed. I'll be back." His wife yawned.

"You do that," Tiffany seemed to whisper here, the aches causing her fatigue as her eyes began to close, "I'll b-be here."

Chucky resituated her with the thick comforter blanket before sleeplessly waddling out of the room.

….

Baby Lottie was lying on her back. Her little arms were raised alongside her head as she cried. Her face, soaked with tiny tears, was starting to redden. Her little stuffed toys, her blanket, nor her pacifier could keep her calm. She wanted something that wasn't in the nursery. At last, Chucky arrived.

"Ok, Princess," he spoke over the crying, "Daddy's here and you know what that means."

At this point, Lottie's epic wailing had stopped in her father's presence but the sobbing continued as she looked up at him standing over her at the side of the crib. She then slowly lowered her hands to her tiny chest.

"That's right," Chucky smiled, "It's time to shut the fuck up. You're such a smart girl." He pinched her cheek and this warranted Lottie to stop sobbing. Her face began to unscrunch as she wrapped her fingers around her father's thumb. Chucky sighed.

"That's better...how is that you've woken me up this many times and the sun isn't even out yet? Do you just enjoy when I don't function during the day?"

Lottie's head lolled from side to side for a moment. When she had stopped, she then smiled up at him. Clearly, she didn't have the answer but the smile could be interpreted another way.

"So, you are doing this on purpose, then?" Chucky rhetorically tilted his head.

Lottie tilted her head too, still smiling. Then cooed.

"Wait, can you even understand what I'm saying right now?" that may be an honest question from Chucky.

Lottie cooed again.

"Probably not, right?"

Another coo.

"Or maybe you can. Who fucking knows."

A fourth coo from the baby. Her smile grew bigger as her lips parted revealing her partly toothless mouth. A few incisors have started to come in, only the tiny tip of the teeth had come in. By the looks of them, Lottie wouldn't be having the same piranha teeth her brother and sister had. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when that was realized.

Chucky playfully smirked, "Oh so, you admit it then? You are doing this on purpose."

Lottie gripped her feet and began to giggle, innocently amused at this point. Chucky shook his head.

"So, what's important that you got for me this time? I don't smell anything so you didn't shit yourself, I feed you twice tonight so you're not hungry. What is it? You have a bad dream or something?"

Lottie closed her mouth but her smile remained. She let the stereotypical "goo" in a tone that suggested protest before throwing her arms up toward him. She wanted to be picked up and she wanted it now. Chucky sighed then lowered the crib bar.

Once Lottie was in his arms, she nestled into his nestled into his chest. Chucky had a habit of wearing these black cotton shirts to bed. In his words, "they're just comfortable as fuck." Lottie was able to support her own head now. In terms of being a baby she's resting on Maggie Simpson.

"I'm not walking around the fucking house. That's not happening again. If this is happening I'm just gonna hold you right here until you fall back asleep," Chucky said. The ways to get Lottie to sleep can't even be identified as methods, there more of rituals. They got to walk around the house at a slow pace, sometimes someone even has to sing; Glenda, almost always Glenda. Chucky always wondered what it was with babies and being outside. I mean his mom never allowed him, let alone took him, outside and he turned out just fi-wait, no.

Lottie then began to make sort of suction sounds with her mouth, as if a bottle were there. Chucky's face fell when he realized what that meant.

"Holy shit, you're hungry, again? Actually?"

The baby cooed then made an 'o' with her mouth. She playfully lolled her head.

"You know, what?" smiled Chucky, "I'm glad, I'm glad you're hungry because I'm hungry too. My constant interruption of sleep really does work up an appetite...also looks like that the constant interruption herself worked up an appetite."

He had lost Lottie after "you know, what?" She was now fiddling with the stray leather thread that dangled from her father's chin. Under Chucky's chin, there's a series of vertical stitches. The thread used was apparently a little under two inches too long and a small length hung freely. Chucky hadn't noticed it until the time Lottie came around because whenever he picked her up, she began playing with that thread. While she did this, she was in a trance of innocent curiosity rather than delightful amusement. Chucky tolerated it as always, he couldn't feel most of his face anyway after the funhouse episode. There's a few little active spots here and there.

"Yeah, let's go eat." He said to no one in particular, knowing well that Lottie wasn't doing the baby equivalent to listening anymore.

Lottie had been content with the hanging thread throughout their descend down the stairs. Chucky had kept his head low for her. It was when they reached when Chucky's head darted up at the sound of clatter coming from the kitchen. Lottie hadn't taken any notice, still enticed by the thread.

"Hey!" Chucky called out, "You break into my house, you just made the worst fucking mistake of your life!" Lottie took interest now, glancing into the darkness that engulfed the first floor.

The clutter suddenly, and impulsively, stopped….then the sound of a toaster going off.

"...The fuck?" Chucky's hold on Lottie tightened as he charged into the kitchen and turned on the lights.

"D-dad?" Glen was at the toaster with a wide eye expression turned towards his dad as a couple of English muffins shot up in the slots. I wish you could see the way I visualize his six year old self. He sleeps in his shorts and this one tank top with an anime style samurai in front of the red dot from the Japanese flag, it's hilarious.

With how much Chucky has been looking after both Tiffany and Lottie, Glen was surprised to see him standing at this time. The fact that he had his eyes open all the way was enough to impress him. It didn't take him long to find out the reason why when he noticed Lottie, with her one centimeter fingers still wrapped around the stitch thread.

"Glen, those muffs rea-" it was time for Glenda to make an appearance apparently. She emerged from the bathroom into the kitchen. She also put together her own little nightwear, going crazy with accessories but not so much on color, considering most of it was pink anyway. The centerpiece was always her shirt with her middle name beautifully printed on it, 'Duchess'.

Lottie noticed her older sister, now leaving the thread which had her so entertained moments ago. "Agh! Agh!" She seemed to cheer while she reached towards her. Glenda's eyes lit up. Within seconds, she was standing over by her dad.

"Lottiepop, Lottiepop, oh Lottie, Lottie, Lottiepop," she sang and popped her lips at the appropriate moment. Lottie squealed with joy as Chucky allowed Glenda to take her out of his hold. Lottie was eager to latch on as her big sister swayed around the room with her and continued singing. She stopped around the third repetition, sparing her twin and father of her otherwise brain drilling singing.

"What's got you two up this morning?" Chucky asked, "Usually I have to fucking slave around for hours until you get up...assuming I don't get impatient and flip your bed over." That happened a couple times before. The twins tried super gluing their beds to the floor, but that didn't stop Chucky either. The end result was still the same, the beds were flipped over but part of the floor went with them.

Glen had started to jelly and butter a stack of English muffins. "I do," he said, "I woke up with a headache and the only way that seems to work is if I down six English muffins and then marinate in a hot bath."

Chucky was indifferent, guess he was going to hear running water later on. "Why is Glenda here?" The oldest Ray daughter was still entertaining her baby sister. Glenda swiftly grabbed a fully prepped English Muffin from Glen's plate (much to his protest). She gave it a munched it, still continuing to hum to Lottie with her mouth full.

"She likes English Muffins," deadpanned Glen.

"I had the dream again too…" Glenda trialed off, "The one with tapirs and a tire jack…"

Chucky smirked as he rummaged through the cupboard for Lottie's baby food. "And here I thought you too were just reminiscing about the better times you had in merry ol' England...just getting together for crumpets?"

He said that last bit in a mock British accent. If you want to sit there and imagine what they may sound like be my guest. Glen and Glenda didn't take much offense from it. If the UK had hands, then it touched them inappropriately.

Glenda gave Lottie a kiss on the forehead before she handed her back to Chucky, who now had the baby food in hand. Glen also had his platter of English Muffins completed and held it like an artist to their palette.

"How's mom doing?" Glenda asked, pinching Lottie's check as the baby nestled back into her dad's cotton clad chest.

"Better," Chucky said, "She's conscious enough to be speaking full sentences again."

"Splendid," said Glen with relief, he had been the one who saw Tiffany fall down the stairs. Not the worse he's ever seen his mom been through. It can't hold a candle to the time when she got an axe in her head, but c'mon, the little angel doesn't like seeing his mom get hurt.

The twins were looking to make their way back upstairs by now. Before heading up, Glen tickled Lottie's belly. The baby let out a sharp cry followed by contagious infant laughter. A little bit of jelly was caked on Glen's fingers. Lottie seemed to catch his hand on the right time in both of hers. Glen sighed as she gave little toothless nibbles on his fingertips. There was a little disagreement on her part when Glen moved his hand away.

"We'll leave you two to your feasting," Glenda had already taken point on the stairs, "I feel like now I've been awake long enough for my dream to reset. Let's go, Glen." She gave a yawn here.

"Right behind you, sis." And Glen followed her back to their room.

Chucky breathed as a new silence filled the kitchen. A silence that was interrupted by a hungry cry from Lottie. She had noticed the baby food in her father's other hand and was staring at it intently and with a little uneasiness. Almost as if she was grossed out and was hiding it. That's not the case though since babies aren't brainy enough to hide feelings and emotions. Baby Lottie wasn't trying to hide that she was repulsed by the food, she was still learning what being repulsed means.

Highchairs are far from necessary in the Ray household. Instead they use the miniaturized tables and chairs. You know, the ones that are meant for toddlers. Everything kind of seems small in the Ray house. In fact, one might call it a doll house...c'mon, you smiled.

Chucky sat Lottie down. She was at the age where she's able to support her own head, but not walking yet. Propping her up against the body of the chair sufficed. Chucky twisted the cap off and enter the invisible cloud of stench from the jar. To Chucky, it was one of those smells that "tickles" (not the consensual kind) one's nose until they sneeze. Lottie got a kick out of that as she tried to imitate her father, trying to make the "ah choo" in her tiny voice while jerking her head back to mimic the movements.

"Well...as long as you're the one eating it and not me," laughed Chucky. The orange texture of the paste was off putting too. It wasn't a healthy shade of orange, either, it was akin to the orange a pumpkin turns weeks after being left out for Halloween. Chucky scoped up a tiny spoonful, and held it towards his daughter.

"Alright, let's do this." Lottie then went still as she looked at the spoon pointing towards her. Then at the monotonous face of her father. When her mother feed her, she would always have this huge smile on her face advocating the food as if it was the best thing on the planet. Lottie could try to refuse it, but Tiffany would always find some way to lovingly brush pass it and feed her. If your mother is that excited about food, how can you turn it down? With Chucky, there was some signs that he knew the food was bad and wasn't going to make any attempts to argue for it.

At that moment, if Lottie could put together coherent and complete thoughts, she would've thought to herself, "I think I might be able to challenge this guy."

She did just that, leaning back into the chair and moving her head to her side in classic babyhood resistance. Chucky had actually been expecting that.

"I know, it smells like shit, kind of looks like shit and I bet it tastes like shit," he said as matter of factly, "But it's shit like this that you gotta eat to grow. So, c'mon, eat it the fuck up. It'll be over before you know it."

Chucky tried moving the spoon closer. Lottie batted it away from herself, letting out a negative humming sound. Like she was saying "mmm, mmm" but didn't say the second "mmm". Chucky wasn't displeased, rather amused and pleased with his daughter's boldness. He sure as hell wasn't going to the airplane and hanger or train and tunnel shticks. If you've seen Lottie play with her toys then you would know that she wants nothing to get to its destination safely. That idea never crossed his mind anyway, cause he's goddamn Chucky and never in a million years believed he would have kids and yet here he was.

"Fine," Chucky set the spoon in the jar and put it within reaching distance of Lottie, "You can eat whenever you want on your own terms. Me, I'm gonna whip up flaps, because I gotta eat right now." Pancakes were something Chucky had been making since he was little. His father had got him into them before he died. Rogan Ray was really good at making them, like really good. Thick, thin, anyway anyone wanted and free of any burns. He had once mentioned opening his own pancake house if he had the money. Would've called it Ray and Son. What could've been? Chucky doesn't think about it much.

Lottie didn't have any reaction to this but internally she was probably celebrating that the spoon got put down. Chucky was quick to head over to the drawers and take out a mixing bowl. He made a couple rounds about the little kitchen as he got the milk, eggs, butter, etc. You want to know how to make pancakes, just search it, it's all there. I don't have to go into step by step detail.

Well, as Chucky as making the batter, Lottie watched him with his back turned to her. She didn't need to make a sound or anything, there's no one who could feel eyes on themselves like Chucky.

"Here." He moved her from the chair to the countertop by the stove so that she could get a better look. Lottie followed her father's random stirring patterns, her head moving about wherever the mixing spoon went. She oooed groggily and lowered her head after becoming dizzy. She came to in time to see Chucky turning on the stove and spreading some of the batter on a frying pan.

Lottie watched her dad cook with his back turned to her with fascination. She would drum on the table playfully whenever Chucky flipped a pancake. It was rare to see Chucky actually make food, considering the only time he does is when he alone is hungry and sharing is out of the question. For Lottie though, he was making an exception, being that she had not tried pancakes yet.

And no more was this evident then her reaction when he placed a plate in front of her; two pancakes of a smaller size compared to the four Chucky had for himself. Both were arranged in stacks, had a perfect gold brown texture, and had been syruped. While he was quick to dig in, baby Lottie made doughy craters with her one centimeter fingers. The warm temperature and soft feel made her coo, but she was still skeptical.

"Holy shit," Chucky spoke with his mouth full, "You chew it, get all the flavor out, then the fucker melts in your mouth. This was worth getting up for, thanks Lottie." He swallowed. Lottie was less uneasy since she just saw him eat them and nothing terrible happened, but she wasn't sure. For all she knew, pancakes could taste like anchovies. She just continued to mess around with them.

"Uh-uh," Chucky shook his head, "You're not allowed to do this. Not with the flapjacks." He cut a tiny piece and held it before her.

"Ahhhh," Lottie cried as she moved her head back slightly, her eyebrows kinked and her lip quivered. Chucky wasn't deterred.

"One bite, that's it."

"Mmmmmmm," Lottie hummed here, she looked like she was calming down but the way she hummed sounded like she was thinking about it.

"Look, you're gonna have flapjacks at one point in your life. Might as well just do it now….with me." Chucky gave her a small smile. There was something special about the time when baby Lottie does something for the first time. She may not have been Chucky and Tiffany's first child, but she is the first one they were there for during infancy. Infancy is one of the most vulnerable periods in life, that's how Glen and Glenda were with their...unfortunate circumstances. With that in mind, Chucky and Tiffany always strived to make Lottie's infancy a period of invincibility. Every moment was precious.

"C'mon…"

After a short and final deliberation, Lottie wrapped her mouth around the fork and when Chucky pulled it away, nothing was on it.

"Yeah." Chucky nodded as Lottie chewed and then swallowed.

Her eyes went wide, as wide as their tiny eye holes allowed. She smacked her lips a couple of times. It all registered; that taste of the syrup soaked into the spongey cake. That sensation of your universe turning pink briefly. As soon as Lotte's mouth cleared, it made that shape that combines with the kinked eyebrows to form a look of horror of how good something can be. The look of discovery.

"Oh shit, you got a little-" Before Chucky could remove the smudge of pancake paste from the corner of her mouth, Lottie grabbed a whole pancake (fully coated in syrup by now) and proceeded to feast upon it. Just going in one bite after the other. Chucky was actually kind of impressed. Why would something like that warrant anger?

Lottie's pace slowed as Chucky went through what was one his plate. Eventually, Lottie was just finishing the last of hers. Her face, arms, hands, her pajamas all coated with Aunt Jemima. Chucky snickered as she attempted to clean herself off with her mouth.

"You happy, Lottie?" It was one of those questions to provoke a funny and/or cute response in a funny and/or cute situation.

Baby Lottie blew a raspberry. She delivered.


End file.
